


Aw, Packing, No

by squadrickchestopher



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, packing for vacation, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: “I know.” He walks over. “You know what this means, though.”“Sex on the beach?”“No. Well, maybe.” Bucky takes the envelope from him. “But first, we have to pack. With actual suitcases.”Predictably, Clint’s face falls at those words. “Aw, packing, no.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 15
Kudos: 129
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	Aw, Packing, No

**Author's Note:**

> For [clintscoffeepot](https://clintscoffeepot.tumblr.com/) who asked for "Clint trying to get Bucky distracted enough by flopping around semi sexily on their clean pile of laundry he refuses to fold"
> 
> Filling my "Aw, ___, No" square for Clint Barton Birthday Bingo AND my "comfort clothes" Bucky Barnes Bingo. Look at me, multitasking and shit.

“Here you go,” Tony says, handing Bucky an envelope. “As per our discussion. Passports, plane tickets, hotel. Everything’s booked, you got the time off, all rights and privileges, blah blah blah.”

Clint looks up from waxing his bowstring with an excited expression. “Wait, really?”

“Really,” Tony says. “You may now kiss my ring or whatever.”

“Pass,” Bucky says. “But thank you.” He turns to Clint and tosses him the envelope. “Merry Christmas. Sorry it’s a month late.”

“Who cares?” Clint looks utterly delighted as he rifles through the contents. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve been on vacation?”

“Eons,” Natasha interrupts. “We know. Please leave as soon as possible so you’ll stop complaining about it.”

Clint sticks his tongue out at her and turns to Bucky. “Thank you,” he says. “Best boyfriend ever.”

“I know.” He walks over. “You know what this means, though.”

“Sex on the beach?”

Tony groans. “Spare us, please.”

“No. Well, maybe.” Bucky takes the envelope from him. “But first, we have to pack. With actual suitcases.”

Predictably, Clint’s face falls at those words. “Aw, packing, no.”

“Tonight. Be home by five.” He drops a kiss on Clint’s forehead and leaves the room, grinning to himself as he hears Clint start asking Natasha if there’s any missions that she needs help with right this second.

* * *

Bucky gets home first, and decides to get started without Clint. Partially he’s eager to get going, partially because he wants to enjoy the peace and quiet before his tornado of a boyfriend comes in and trips over something. So he starts doing laundry, and makes a list of things to pack, and tries to think about what will be okay in the fridge for a week.

Clint actually does come home at five, wonder of wonders. He announces himself by falling over the rug, as per usual, and rolls gracefully back up onto his feet. Then he saunters over to the door frame and leans against it, trying for sexy and achieving ridiculous instead. “Hello,” he says, pitching his voice lower. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Packing,” Bucky says, throwing a shirt at him. “And you’re helping. Get over here.”

Clint groans and drops the act. “I hate packing.”

Bucky sighs. “I _know_ that. You know how I know? You texted me that five minutes ago. And ten minutes before that. And then again before that. In fact, you’ve mentioned it pretty much _every_ time we’ve gone anywhere that requires even a single change of clothes.”

Clint grins at him. “I’m so glad you’re paying attention to me,” he says, moving past Bucky to flop on the bed. “Makes me feel so loved.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and kicks the laundry basket towards him. “Make yourself useful and fold these, will you? There’s still one more load to do.”

“What’s the point? They’re just going in a suitcase.”

“Some of them. Not all of them. And I don’t want to come home from a nice vacation to a bunch of laundry that still has to be put away.” He picks up the basket and dumps it on Clint’s head, then adds the other one for good measure. “Fold. Be helpful.”

Clint pulls a sock off his face and flings it at Bucky. “You’re the one who always says my clothes look better on the bedroom floor.”

“Only when I’m trying to get you naked. Which I’m not,” he adds quickly, seeing the mischievous glint come into Clint’s eye. “So don’t even go there. You want sex, you better fold the laundry first.”

Clint looks in dismay at the massive pile on the bed. “Did you wash _everything_ we own?”

“No, just what was in the basket. And laying on the floor. And out on the couch. And hung over the lamp.” He looks at Clint. “You’ll find that most of it is yours.”

“I feel like there was a point in that little speech,” Clint says, reluctantly pulling himself upright. “But I’m deliberately going to ignore it.”

“Surprising no one,” Bucky says, patting his head. “Fold.”

Clint sighs. “Yes sir, right away sir.” He picks up a shirt and makes a half-hearted attempt at turning it right-side out. “I still hate packing. Why don’t we just steal things when we get there?”

“We are _not_ stealing things.”

“Why not? I’m very good at it.” Clint drops the shirt and wiggles his fingers. “I’ve got talented hands and all. Good at picking pockets.” He winks. “And doing other things.”

“Christ,” Bucky says, turning away so Clint won’t see his smile. “We’re not stealing things, we’re not buying things. We are going to pack our suitcases like the adults we are and spend a week on the beach, like I promised you a month ago.” He wrestles his face into something stoic and turns around. “I’m dead serious.”

“Yeah,” Clint drawls, a lazy grin spilling across his face. “I can tell. You look _very_ serious.”

“Clinton Francis Barton---”

“Ouch,” Clint says as he winces. “Don’t middle name me, come on.”

“Fold the damn clothes or I’m calling you that for the rest of the night.”

“Fine, you big bully.” Clint plunges his hand into the pile and comes up with a red tank top. “Oh my god. Please tell me you’re taking this.” He turns it towards Bucky, displaying the “Sun Out, Guns Out” emblazoned across it.

Bucky snorts. “You want me to?”

“Uh, _yeah_.”

“Okay. Fold it and put it in the suitcase.” Bucky grabs the last of the laundry and goes to swap out what’s already in the machine. When he comes back, Clint is not so much folding shirts as he is tossing things into various piles and muttering to himself.

Bucky leans against the doorway and sighs. “Clint.”

“I’m just sorting,” Clint says. “Yours and mine. Things to take, or not take.” He looks up, notes Bucky’s expression. “I’ll fold them. I will. Just thought this might speed things up.”

Bucky sighs again, but steps into the room and settles himself by one of the piles. “This mine?”

“Mine. Other one’s your stuff.”

“Isn’t this mine?” Bucky asks, picking up one of the shirts.

“Maybe.” Clint gives him his best innocent face. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Okay, it _was_ yours. But it’s mine now.”

“Why?”

“Because it fits me better.” He thinks for a moment, then adds, “I also stole one of your sweatshirts. That really soft one.”

“I wondered where that went.”

“It’s in my closet.” He shrugs.

“There’s no way that fits you better. It was huge on _me_.”

Another shrug. “No, I just like it. You know, for when it’s cold outside and you just want to settle on the couch with a giant sweatshirt and a mug of coffee?”

Bucky thinks about it. He’s never done it, but he can see the appeal of it, honestly. There is something inherently calming about sitting in warm, comfy clothes when it’s cold out. “Don’t you have your own sweatshirts for that?”

“I like that one.” Clint tilts his head. “Reminds me of you. I pull it out when you’re away on missions or whatever. Makes me feel all safe and stuff.”

It’s like a sucker punch to the chest, those words, and Bucky has to take a moment to breathe through the sudden swell of emotions. He’s aware Clint loves him. It’s easy to see, really, and Clint is very open about how he feels. It’s a stark contrast to Bucky, who tends to keep things a little more closed in.

Which is probably why things like this tend to catch him off-guard. He knows Clint loves him, but it's the way he _shows_ it that really gets to Bucky, warming his heart in all the best ways. Things like buying Bucky’s favorite chocolates as a surprise, or putting things in his suggestion list on Netflix, or letting him sleep in on their days off.

Things like curling up in Bucky’s clothes because they make him feel loved and protected.

_I don’t know what I did to deserve you_ , Bucky thinks, looking at him.

Clint is watching him, a curious expression on his face. “You can have it back,” he says. “If you want.”

“No,” Bucky says. He gets up and goes over to the bed, slotting himself right into Clint’s space. Clint’s eyes go wide, and a smile starts to tug at his mouth. “You can keep it. I like knowing that you think about me when I’m gone.”

“I think about you all the damn time,” Clint says, sliding a hand up Bucky’s arm. “You take up so much real estate in here.” He points at his head. “Haven’t been able to get you out since the first time I saw you.”

“I’m memorable,” Bucky agrees. “It’s the arm.”

“It’s the _you_ ,” Clint says, poking at his chest. “You could have a freaking tentacle for an arm, and I’d still love you, because you’re _you_.”

“Good,” Bucky murmurs, and leans down to kiss him. “Love you too.”

Clint’s arms come around him, pulling down until they’re both on the bed, laying on the pile of laundry. “This is gonna interfere with the packing,” he points out, wriggling underneath Bucky until he’s slightly less pinned. “Just saying.”

“I hate packing,” Bucky says. “This is much more fun.”

“Definitely,” Clint agrees, and pulls him down into another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)


End file.
